


evening with the shadows

by pistolgrip



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: The Pitch Black Punisher entertains a request from a fan.





	evening with the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this fic on pixiv](https://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=9585727) (the fifth one in the collection)! there's similarity but i went in a different direction o:

"So, Pitch Black Punisher."

An unsightly figure leans against the wall of the coliseum's exit, long after most of the spectators have taken their leave. Six stops walking, fixes a hard gaze on it.

He gives no indication that he's heard, but it's taken as an invitation to continue, anyway. "Cute name," Siete grins. "But isn't it a little... dramatic?"

"I am dressed in all black for the sole purpose of punishing those who disrupt order," Six says, matter-of-factly and with no room for joking.

This seems to have the opposite effect on Siete, who laughs openly; he's just telling the truth. There's nothing cute about it. "In any case, P.B., why aren't you at the banquet with the rest of the contestants?"

"I don't see the need for my presence." Siete knows why Six, of all people, wouldn't be present at the banquet, he thinks with a flash of irritation. He doesn't need to play this game with him. He fully intends to keep walking past by without a word.

It works right until the part where he actually walks by Siete, during which his stomach grumbles in hunger. It echoes in the cavernous walls of the coliseum entrance.

Siete's grin settles into a smirk. "I can't see a reason, Peanut Butter, but I can hear one. Let me take you out for a drink. You gave the best fight out of everyone in there, and I dont just say that to anybody."

"You watched?"

"Wanted to see for myself how my favourite Shadow Boy was doing."

"Pitch Black Punisher," he grits out, and in that moment he knows he's started playing Siete's game. "How do you expect me to accept your offer if you won't get my name right?"

"That's whats got you all tied up?"

"No name, no deal," he says, not believing that those words came out of his own mouth. But he is hungry, and if everyone from the competition is going to be there, that includes the Captain, which means that includes the lizard and its obsession with his mask. It's not the most ideal option, but it's not the worst, and dinner with Siete still means dinner.

Besides, if he's going out to eat with someone right now, it's a saving grace that it's someone that knows he's been in front of an audience of thousands all day. He's just exhausted enough to accept.

"O Greatest and Shadowiest of Punishers, Pitch Black Punisher, bestow unto a lowly me thy grand presence, so that we may eat and drink and be merry, as that one cookbook says." Siete gets down on one knee as well, and even though his head is bowed, Six can see a wry smile paint the corners of his mouth.

"You're paying," Six says. He walks on, feeling oddly validated.

* * *

"So, Six—"

"Pitch Black Punisher." He doesn't know what compels him to correct Siete, and he's glad enough that the booth they're in is in a corner, where Six can hide his embarrasment in the shadows.

Siete raises both his eyebrows. Six glares back. "So, Pitch Black Punisher." Siete's smile is clear in his voice, an echo of their first meeting earlier. "How've you been?"

"Presumptuous, to talk as we are old friends." If he's going to play the game, he's going to commit. It works for Djeeta, at least, and if it helps her give Siete a taste of his own medicine, it might be more potent coming from Six.

He folds the menu and places it in front of him. "Oh, you've chosen?" Opening it back up, he taps at a few options silently, a brief pause of their game. Siete talks as he does this, eyes on his own menu. "But in any case, my bad. I've just been following your career so closely it's like I know you personally."

"This was my debut."

"Point stands," Siete says, before he flags down a waiter. Six makes a move for his mask, but Siete stops his hand. "We're close enough to the coliseum that you'd be more recognizable with the mask than without, Punch Bunny."

Ignoring the name, he clenches his fist and moves it back into his lap, because he's right; they're in a quieter part of Albion, but people don't disperse that quickly, especially not a crowd as large as the one he'd been in front of, and people are always hungry after a fight. Siete chats up the waiter, keeps the attention on himself rather than Six, and orders for both of them. Siete lands every single order he pointed out, along with the previously mentioned drinks.

"You remind me of someone I know," says Siete when the waiter has served them their drinks and left. "Dark, broody. Likes masks."

"What a coincidence. You remind me of someone I know as well. Tall, loud, never leaves me alone."

Siete laughs, and Six turns his head away as he huffs out a crooked smile. "Bet he's a real charmer."

"Bet he thinks so too." He's gotten better at reading Siete over the years, the distrust giving way to an acceptance of his presence, like an itch just out of reach. That, too, has given way to fleeting appreciation of the man, when Six feels as though he can talk to Siete without having to fight through his joking exterior first. His company isn't so bad now, most likely due to the fact that he has to keep his voice down in a public place, which makes him more bearable.

This arrangement is rare but not unheard of; he and Siete go out for dinner whenever they cross paths and Six is in a decent enough mood to affiliate with the other man. But there's something odd about the energy in the air today, and Six can't attribute all of it to the fact that he's playing with a stage persona, even if it's essentially just himself with a different name.

Maybe he can. Six is no stranger to constructing barriers to mediate his social interactions, and this should be no different—but instead of playing it safer, using it to draw himself away, Six finds himself creeping closer and closer to the edge.

Siete's smile looks coy. Like if Six doesn't watch where he's looking, he'll fall.

"Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how have you been?" Siete asks, smile never faltering. "Wait, beginner questions, icebreakers. Where are my manners? What's your name, how old are you, your birthday, star sign, things like that."

Each of the questions pierces through his brain, a pincushion of anxiety, the answers not so much unknown as it is deliberately forgotten. He bites the inside of his cheek.

"Oh, this is a test, right? Only the greatest fans would know this." He clears his throat and starts ticking off answers on his fingers. "First name Pitch Black, last name Punisher. You're approximately ten thousand years old, unexpectedly old for an Erune, but still with dashingly youthful good looks. You were born on, let's say, Christmas, because that's the least pitch black day of the year I can think of, although it may be punishment for some without a date. That makes you a Capricorn. How'd I do?"

Six doesn't know any of those things. He's even willingly forgotten the name he was given at birth, absorbed the name _Six_ like black tar does unsuspecting animals. "Every single one of those is wrong," he says, carefully. He picks up his drink, lets the alcohol burn down his throat. "But the effort was there, I suppose."

"Ten outta ten, sweet. Okay, your turn." Siete leans forward, chin in hand, eyes sparkling.

It was a risky thing, Siete asking those questions; even Six himself is unsure of how he's taking it, remnants of rampant anxiety abated by, of all things, a familiar frustration with the man. When the question is thrown back at him, he figures this is going somewhere, and Siete's taken the winding road to get there as usual. There are different ways he can play this.

He doesn't. "Siete, full name unknown. Twenty seven, unusually annoying for a human. Birthdate unknown, birthplace unknown," he trails off, looking to the side, feeling heat creep up his neck.

Siete whistles low. "Not bad. I'm a hard man to find as it is. That stuff's just public knowledge, yeah?"

"You're low on my list of receivers of punishment. There are other people to seek."

He lifts the glass up to his mouth again just in time to see Siete laugh after a heavy pause. "Pretty kinky for a first date, isn't it? I'll roll with it, though. Ready to receive your Pretty Big Punishment at any time."

Six nearly chokes on his drink. A first _what?_ He lowers the glass down slowly, eyes never leaving Siete's cheeky expression. He can't get a word out, because the server comes with plates of food and starts placing them on the table.

Siete takes chopsticks and immediately grabs something off a sizzling plate, fanning his mouth when it proves to be too hot. "Ish good," he says, steam rising out of his mouth. "Hav' shome."

"A date." Six frowns in contemplation.

Raising his eyebrows, Siete looks at him while grabbing another piece of beef off the sizzling plate, after having barely swallowed the first piece. "Sorry if that's too much, Mister Punisher, just joking around. You looked a little tense."

Siete has to be playing with him, apologizing for this comment and not for the earlier ones regarding his background, but his face holds neither challenge nor embarrased regret. His expression lends nothing to how he really wants Six to respond, and despite that—

"And if I'm not joking?" Six mumbles around a bowl of rice he's brought up to his mouth, focusing all his energy on it, delaying the reaction he'll see when nothing's blocking his sight.

He can't say this is the first time he's thought about what it would be like to let himself be close to others. Years of self-imposed isolation has only made him crave company more, the closeness that seems just out of his reach.

What, then, if it wasn't? What if Siete of all people was the one willing to meet him halfway, across this cavernous unknown that Six has no choice but to tumble into? It's not the worst person to explore the unknown with, he begrudgingly admits—and that's how it starts, doesn't it? That's how this dinner started, a grumbled but unmistakable anticipation for Siete to lead him along the way to something.

Six is not a stray to be tamed, a kitten in a tree to be saved, roadkill to be peeled off the hot asphalt. Siete isn't afraid to push him, and he knows exactly how. He has to know how, if he and Uno managed to get eight other mostly maladjusted people to band together like this.

And for all his complaints, this ritual of theirs has gone seamlessly, Siete wordlessly picking a quiet restaurant with a table in the corner, handling the orders, without mentioning any of it. Somewhere in his mind, Six is fully aware he's past the begrudging admissions. His actions tonight, hidden behind an identity that isn't his own only by name, made sure of that. (He's not at the point where he can let himself want, yet. But the thought doesn't make him turn inwards and retreat.)

Drawing out the moment as long as he can, he finally puts the bowl down, slowly, and then dares to look up at Siete.

It takes a lot to see the face he's making right now. Sure, Six has seen false versions of it, pantomimes of emotion, but his raw, unfiltered suprise creeping into a smile is rare. It should be reserved for larger occasions, not something as trivial as this, Six labelling their dinner as a—

—as a. As what it could be. Six feels warm and he's not even halfway through his drink. He clears his throat quietly and takes food off the table to put on his plate.

"In that case," Siete says, trying and failing to keep the grin out of his voice, "then I'm not joking either."

Through his embarrassment and disorienting self-realization, Six snorts. "Nice to see you not joke for once."

"My dear Pitch Black Punisher, with you I have been nothing but serious." His voice is so unexpectedly tender, understanding, that Six takes all his energy not to choke on the food he's chewing on.

The conversation slows after that, but it's a comfortable one, allowing Six to process the events as they finish off the food. Doing so simultaneously puts him at ease while his heart hammers, preemptively anxious for the unknown.

Siete foots the entire bill, writes it off with a wink as "coliseum gambling reimbursed by Eternals funds". Six rolls his eyes at the thinly veiled attempt to hide the fact that it's coming out of his pocket. The air when they step outside is warm in contrast to the restaurant's cool interior, and they head back to the Grandcypher, Six fitting his mask back on.

At least, that's what he thought the plan was. Siete stops abruptly in front of an inn. "I've got business to finish up here in Albion, so I'm afraid this is as far as I'll go." The ship takes off tomorrow and Six is coming along, his job here being done. "But thank you for accepting my request, Pitch Black Punisher. How do you feel about a second date?"

"Don't push your luck," he says immediately. But in contrast with his words, Six grabs one of Siete's hands and gingerly lifts his knuckles up to where his mouth would be under the mask.

He lets it linger for a second before releasing Siete's hand, nearly throwing it away, not entirely sure why he did that. Siete's face is overly pleased, and Six, nearly paralyzed by how awkward he feels, miraculously manages to turn away, keep walking, and—for extra flair—tosses his cape more tightly around him, disappearing into the night.

(If his face were any hotter, his mask would be welded to it. His ears flatten against his head.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ten Signs The Man You're On A Date With Is A Chuuni  
> 1\. He insists you call him Pitch Black Punisher
> 
> this was just an excuse to make siete call six as many bad names as possible  
> 


End file.
